Rise of the Crystal Crusader
by azure-LT
Summary: As distance encroaches on Steven and Connie's relationship, the two devise a scheme to keep their fusion alive. [Follow-up to the events of "Water Pressure"]
1. Eternal Teatime of the Restless Mind

Steven didn't know the number, or the name that popped up. He had a lot of people in his phone, but only a couple ever really called him. Or picked up when he called. Then again, he figured, he did help a lot of people. Him and the other Gems. Maybe word was spreading? Maybe there was a big emergency in town, and only the Crystal Gems could help. Did that make him their point-of-contact? Like—like a sidekick? Or, _hang on_ , was he just their secretary? Steven didn't want to be a secretary. Not that there was anything wrong with being a secretary. It just wasn't in his ideal skill set. He'd need a completely different kind of training. Maybe he should give out Pearl's direct line, now that she had a phone too? That would be more efficient. Then he could just respond as part of the team. Be the cool one in the back, who never said anything. Everyone would ask, "Who's that?" Then someone say, "What, _him?_ Why, that's _Kid Universe!_ He—"

The phone continued to ring.

"But I guess every legend has to start somewhere." He pressed the green button in the center of his screen. "Residence of the famous Crystal Gems; Kid Universe speaking. What is your crisis today, please?"

 _"Steven!"_ The voice was like cool marmalade on the boy's over-baked imagination. "I thought you'd never pick up! What's going on?"

"Oh. Connie." Shift gears, son. This is serious now. " _Connie!_ Are you okay? It's been forever! It's been, what is this, Tuesday? Wait, who's Mabel?"

In and around the background murmur, Steven could hear a bell intone through the speaker. Connie's voice was clipped, abrupt, a little louder than it had to be. "It's, she's, she's someone at study hall. I've got a free period. Sort of. I'm just calling to say, I'm sorry I messed this up. For you, me. Us. For everyone."

The Crystal Gems help line? _No, wait._ That was all in his head. Did she mean the other day? "What? No. You didn't do anything wrong! I mean, you really did mean to call your mom. Or at least send a message. And it all turned out fine!" He gestured, for no one to see. "And she met Stevonnie, and we gave her a hug, and she didn't even freak out all that much."

"Steven, it's _not_ fine. That's not the—it's, I mean. I should have called, but it was _going_ to be all right. Stevonnie cleared it all up, and Mom was ready to move on, and then, and then..." Her voice dipped, so Steven could barely hear her. "I just blew it."

"Huh?" Did he miss something? "Like, on the ride home?" For a beat there was only the shuffle and roar of what must have been a school hallway. "Hey, Connie? You still there?"

"No. Steven, right at the _end_. Right," she began to stammer. "R-, right before I left. When, when—we, w-, I, _you know_."

Steven blinked into space. Had she... broken something? Did she kick her mother really hard? When she was on Dr. Maheswaran's shoulder? After they... _oh_. "Oh." Wait, that happened, didn't it. He'd spent the rest of that night in such a trance, he half thought he'd dreamt it all. "Oh!" But, hang on. "What? Why?"

"Steven, I kissed you! On the _mouth!_ Right in," she moderated her volume to a harsh whisper, "right in front of her!"

"Yeah. Is that... bad?" He slid his hand over his gem, unconsciously.

"Bad? It's like the worst thing _ever!_ "

"Oh."

Connie sputtered, in a panic. "No, Steven, no. _No!_ I'm, no." She groaned. "I just mean, all I did then was confirm all their worst fears about me."

"Their worst fear is... me?" No matter how warm he got, the gem remained cool to the touch. He curled his fingers and ran his knuckles along its facets.

"I don't mean it like that," she pleaded. "Steven, it's not _you_. Don't you understand? It's, I—I was just so happy to see everything work out. Finally it was all right _there_. She knew about the magic and the training, and now she knew about Stevonnie. And it was a lot of effort, but she was willing to accept it, and, and—and now they think it's all just an excuse."

"An excuse?"

"It's like everything they worry I might do when they're not looking, now they think they were right all along. Steven, they won't let me out of their sight!"

"I don't get it." Was this a human thing or a grown-up thing? Was he more Gem than he thought he was? They did make up most of his role models. "All because you kissed me?"

"I didn't _mean_ to! I mean, I did. It's just, I don't know. I thought maybe we'd kind of... earned it? It was like, like some TV moment, where everyone learns a valuable life lesson and laughs about all that happened, then next week there's some new problem to face. But life doesn't work like that, and it's not that cute. And it's not that—" Her voice wavered. "It, it doesn't always work out. And now I've ruined everything."

"Oh." He measured his breath, and tried to pull on a smile. "Well. It can't be that bad, right? I mean, we can still talk like this. We'll just be phone buds now, until this all blows over, or one of us has a carefully developed, foolproof, very good idea."

"Steven, they don't even know I'm talking to you. This isn't my phone. They're really upset with me."

"But you're doing it anyway. You found a way." Seriously, who was Mabel? "Connie, this isn't so bad. We'll figure it out, the way we always do. Sure it sucks that we can't see each other right now, but we've fought way worse stuff than your parents." He counted off on his fingers, racking his brain for the meanest of the mean. " _Jasper_ , the G _em mutants_ , that... _bird blob_?" The hand drifted back to his gem. "Your parents aren't even that bad. At least you've got both of them. I think they're just worried about you."

"That's just it." Steven had to cover his other ear to make her out. "That's what scares me. That after everything we've been through, I don't think they trust me anymore. And maybe..." She sniffed. "Maybe they shouldn't."

"Connie, that's ridiculous. They should be _proud_ of you! You've done so much. You do everything they ask, and you still try so hard at the things you want to do. You're smart and strong and brave. Why wouldn't they be proud?"

"Because now they think I lied to them. And I scared them so much. Mom thought she'd lost me. And now they think I'm just some rotten _kid_ who sneaks behind her parents' back so she can spend all day kissing a _boy_. And, maybe I am! Even on the way here, I drank my mom's whole latte when she wasn't looking. It tasted like _raspberries_! I let her think she left it on the roof!" She paused to breathe. "Which may explain why I'm so on-edge right now."

"What?" Steven was having none of this. "Just wait a gosh darned minute." The fingers were back, sterner this time. "First of all, you didn't do anything behind your mom's back. You kissed me right in front of her. I could see her looking at me. Second, it was no more than ten seconds, five minutes tops."

"Steven," she breathed, "I think I really hurt them. You saw the way my mom was. I just... I hate to see them so disappointed. My mom, she's not getting any younger. I'm, maybe I should..." The noise in the hall had died down. For a long minute there was nothing but an odd clack of feet on tile, a distant mumble, a door left to slam once, twice, three times. What were they doing?

"You okay? Connie?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I didn't want to say. You never knew your mom. I just, I never thought about it. What if I lost them? And what if the last thing they knew was how they'd lost _me_? Maybe, I don't know, we should put this off for a while. Maybe I should just let them have their daughter, while they still can."

"Um." That must have been some coffee. "So, you want to wait to see me until your parents are... dead?"

"I..." Hearing it in so many words left Connie startled. "No. Of cour-, I, no, I don't know. But, maybe? I mean, you're not getting any _older_ , right?"

Steven felt a bead of sweat pooling near his left eye. "I, er. I mean, I could be?"

"But you're a Gem, and Gems don't age. Well, half-Gem. It might take you _years_ to grow up. Ideally this would be the other way around, because girls mature faster than boys anyway, but I already look older than you, right?"

With a dull thump, Steven slid off the edge of his bed. "Connie, what are you talking about?"

"And maybe we can catch up! Does Stevonnie age? They're more human than you, but they've still got your gem. Do you think if we fused, I'd get any older? I bet we can make it up!" Every word compounded her sense of excitement. Clearly this was the most brilliant plan that Connie had ever put together.

"Heh, heh. Yeah, wouldn't that be something." Steven sighed. "Connie, I don't understand what you're saying to me, but I don't want to wait until your parents die. How about we do a video chat later, and we can take it from there?"

"That's perfect. I can wait until Mom's asleep, and sneak into Dad's office while he's at work. I know his password."

"Yeah, um. That sounds great." Steven could hear another bell, and a growing murmur behind the space that carried Connie's voice.

"I got to go. Study hall's over. Thanks, Steven. _We shall resume contact_ at 200 hours! Connie, out!"

"Oh, all right. I'll—" The phone cut off. Steven closed his eyes and breathed. This was going to be fine. It was fine. He hated to see Connie fall apart like this. The best he could do was just listen to her. What time was it, anyway? He flicked the phone screen. **2:25**. So how long was 200 hours? Wasn't that, like, a week?

Steven dropped the phone on his comforter and trudged to the kitchen. Where was everyone? It was so... quiet, there. He wished he could say something, help Connie to calm down. More than ever, he'd been missing her lately. Now he knew why he'd been getting voicemail, anyway.

Was he even hungry? After that call, he didn't feel like eating. Not by himself, anyway. Absently Steven folded his right hand into his left. Feeling the touch, he looked at his palms and sighed. Nope; just him in there.

 _Coffee_ , he thought. Put him in some solidarity with that missing part. Or, okay, maybe not coffee. He doubted they had any, and Mr. Dewey didn't seem like the kind to sell coffee to a kid. And anyway, Connie was pretty weird on the phone. But, tea? Tea was nice. Steven put on the water, and climbed the counter to rattle through the upper cabinets. He knew Pearl kept a collection up there somewhere, though to what purpose he couldn't imagine. It's not like she drank it. Maybe it was for the little ceramic animals? Lately it was all tractors and things. That was far less interesting. He muttered, to keep himself company. "Chamomile mint. That sounds nice." He took a deep whiff of the box. "Mmm, fresh. Hope it's not too strong."

They didn't have any exotic syrup, but they did have a clear plastic bear full of honey. Good enough, probably. Steven felt like donning his pink shirt just so he could pop the collar. He forced a laugh as he squeezed the sweetener into the most delicate of china cups. "Rebel in training, baby." Soon enough the kettle was whistling its diminished fifth—the rebel's interval—and the bag was beginning to steep. He lifted the cup and saucer and walked to the screen door, to peer over the crawling tide. And whatever that might be, crawling _in_ the tide. Was it some kind of giant sea slug, or—oh. No, it was just Onion, with... was that a toaster? What was he doing?

Steven puffed at the surface of his maturing tea. Still too hot, but the aroma was taking off. "Mm, lovely," he chirruped. The sound of the warp pad made him leap. He just barely caught the cup and saucer, only spilling a few drops on his thumb—enough to make him yelp and flap his hand a few times on its way to his mouth.

"Hey, _Stee-Man!_ What you suckin' your thumb for, huh?!"

He scowled at Amethyst. "Where have you guys been? I haven't seen you all day. Where's Garnet?"

"Oh-ho-ho," she chuckled, "this is the best. You just gotta see what Peri did to the Galaxy Warp. It was supposed to be an early warning system, but now Sardonyx is all—"

"Hang on." Steven held up a hand. "You're saying there's some kind of crisis?"

Amethyst twirled her hair with a shrug. "I dunno about a crisis, but it's good for a few laughs."

He lowered his hand to cradle the opposite elbow, lending a stable basis to stroke his chin. "Is there a chance of anyone getting hurt, or anything important getting destroyed or damaged?"

"I guess," she said. "But only if they drop that thing."

Steven punched the air with both hands. "Good enough! _Kid Universe to the res-_ , um?" Something was missing. He stared at his palms, then at the ground. He lifted one foot, then the other. He looked up to the rafters, left and right. Did he leave it on the roof? No, he was too young to drive. So, where...

"Dude, you lose something?"

He snapped to it. _Priorities_ , Steven. "I'm fine! Don't worry. Just let me get my pink shirt!"

"No worries, man. I'm sure they can hold that all day."

Steven trotted back to the warp pad, folded his arms, unfolded a hand to flip up the collar; struggled a moment, unfolded the other hand to help with the collar, and re-folded his arms. "Kid Universe to the rescue. Let's do this!"

* * *

It was well past dark when the warp pad re-activated. Three out of four Gems, plus Steven, were lightly singed, dripping with a sheen of mucoid blue slime. The remaining Gem was on defense, with the face of an unsettled badger. "... _perfectly_ steady, or there was a chance of misalignment! Ngah!"

Garnet turned without a word, raised her encrusted hands to open the Temple door, and allowed it to close behind her. Bedraggled as she looked, Pearl forced a pained smile. "Yes, well, we all did our best, Peridot. Perhaps next time we can find a simpler approach."

Eyes half-sunken, Steven loped back to the kitchen, trailing a deposit of thin periwinkle scum.

With a grunt, Amethyst clenched the back of the dry Gem's form-fitting "appearance modifier" and tugged her, thrashing, toward her own room. "Ugh, c'mon, Dot. It's not worth it. I got more junk you can take apart in here."

Alone on the pad, Pearl changed her focus. "I'm so sorry, Steven. We, I just didn't expect to see you at that moment." She raised her palms in a feeble shrug. "Thank goodness Amethyst was there to take the brunt of it, or who knows what could have happened! Ha, ha, ha!"

Steven patted his face with a dish towel. An iridescent transfer of his features now peered back at him from the cloth. He sighed. "It's all right, Pearl. I know it was a tricky job. I probably shouldn't have been there." As he shifted, his sandals popped and squelched against the kitchen tile. He couldn't help but smile, a bit. "But I guess I got that exotic syrup I was looking for." A hand went to scratch his head, but returned with a scoop of thickening goo. With a jerk of the wrist, thick gobs of the stuff spluttered across the floor.

Pearl's eyes swam to follow each motion, record every spot of disorder. "Yes, well," she said, "clearly you're always welcome on our operations. You're a part of the team! I'm so proud of the growth you've shown in such a short time. Geologically speaking. I don't ever want you to feel, er, unwelcome." She glanced away, as her fingers balled to a loose fist. "It's not _your_ fault you arrived when you did."

"Right." Steven wanted to pour a bowl of cereal, but first he'd have to clean his hands. And the sink was all the way over there. What, two feet, almost. He extended an arm. No, too far. Sigh. "Thanks, Pearl. Hey, no real damage, right?"

Pearl gritted her teeth. "Well, no. Only to the Galaxy Warp, I suppose. Which I grant is an ancient and _precious_ relic of Gem technology." The grimace spread to engulf her face. "But it's been broken before, and somehow we've fixed it! Ha, ha, ha!" She paused. "At least now we know that route is closed. And yes, we're all here! Unharmed. If a bit," she inspected the sheen on her palm, "compromised."

"Okay." Steven stirred what energy remained and spun toward the bathroom. As he stepped, his sandals stuck to the floor and remained in place. "Well, Steven's going to get cleaned up now."

Nervously Pearl curled some fingers in his direction. "Oh. Yes, well, good night, then, Steven. We'll all see you," to the closed door, "tomorrow."

The boy leaned against the bathroom sink—a little lower than the kitchen, a little easier to handle; a little... quieter—and breathed through his nose. With all he'd seen, Steven thought, maybe he should know better than to hope for an interesting day.

He turned the tap, leaving a thin blue glint on the metal. Maybe he should save his wishes for a nice, quiet picnic. With no ants. At least, not on the food. Ants were okay. Just not in a bagel sandwich. Or—he sighed—on a jam biscuit.

He caught the eye of Mirror Steven. If Steven looked half as bad as that kid, it was no wonder he felt the way he did. "Aw, man! Connie gave me this shirt." He hoped it didn't stain. He tried to peel the fabric away; it might as well have been glued to his skin. Just like a real Gem, he thought. But, his hands. That probably didn't help. "One thing at a time," he grumbled. This stuff was getting harder to scrub off, and if it dyed his skin like this he was worried for his birthday shirt. His hands provisionally clear, time for a fuller round on his face. It was getting hard to blink now.

Seriously, though. How would he strip down? Would he have to just shower like this? Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Steven sighed into the sud-filled basin, leavening its froth with a brief geyser of air. He came up gasping; coughed up a bubble or two. That was a bit misjudged. "Okay," he sputtered to the figure across the sink, "no more messing around. Time to get..." Something was off about Mirror Steven. He looked downward, and was greeted with rolls of bright peach-toned flesh.

"... _squeaky?!_ " He yelped. Steven sprang backward, only for his feet to stick in place, causing him to fall. So the gunk remained. Otherwise, nothing to see here but a gem. "Wha-, _what?_ " He tried to push himself up, but those feet weren't going anywhere. Growling with effort and a deep pinch to his flesh, he freed his soles from purgatory and scrambled backward until he could use the wall to wedge himself upright. Little blue inverse-feet remained by the sink, much like Dishtowel Steven from before.

Panting, Steven lifted his elbows, spun in place; looked behind the shower curtain, in the toilet. There was Mirror Steven again, just as confused as he. "By chance you haven't seen a pink shirt around, have you?" No answer, of course. Something crackled in the back of Steven's brain. Was he losing his grip? What was going _on_ here? He shrugged at his companion. "Looks like you have the same problem, huh? Heh, heh."

Quietly Steven explored the rest of the house. Nothing in the fridge, the oven. Nothing by the sofa, the warp pad. His loft was as he left. " _Guys?_ " He ventured. "Amethyst, is _this_ you? It's very funny, but that shirt is important to me."

There had to be a simple explanation. Steven retraced his steps. He had been at the sink. There were his footprints, now frozen like glass. He lined himself up. "So I was here, washing my hands." He spoke to the mirror. "I think I said something about ants. Or was that just in my head?" He frowned. "Then I went to rub that stuff out of my eyes." He lowered his head, mimed a splash, and pushed himself upright. "And—" There was his shirt! _Mirror Steven_ had it the whole time. That rascal! Wait, hold on.

Steven glanced at his chest. "Shirt!" he yelled. In his excitement he slipped on the footprints, setting him on his back again. This time, a little harder. "Ow," he protested. But, he saw his knees. "And pants!" He gawped. "Where _were_ you?" As he sat up, the shirt chafed against his skin. He slid a hand beneath, to nurse the flesh. The cotton was stiff as cardboard. But, it no longer stuck to him. It was just... there, being worn.

"What is going _on?_ " Steven tried to grasp his hair, only to prick his fingers on the quills that had formed with the hardened gel. "Ow! _Again!_ It's, it's almost like..." And then it hit him.

"Oh my gosh!" He dashed to tell Mirror Steven. " _I'm a Gem too!_ I've got my own filing system!" His glee flipped back to puzzlement. "But how does it work? Well, _think_ , Steven. How does your gem usually work?" He glanced at the mirror. " _Good point_ , Steven." He closed his eyes. "Usually when I float, or summon a bubble or a shield, it's got to do with how I'm feeling." He took a pose, and shared a determined stare with his counterpart. "So what if I feel like... being _naked?!_ " There was a flash of the purest, most gentle pink, and the clothes were no more than a vestigial glint in Steven's gem.

Eyes beaming, Steven tore from the bathroom. " _Guys!_ Guys! I can do a thing! Come _on_ , guys!" No answer from the temple. "Aww," he groused. "What do they even _do_ at night? It's not like they need to sleep." A better thought struck him. "Connie!" He took the stairs two at a time, dove for the phone on his bed, and hit redial.

One ring, two. Short pause. An unfamiliar voice replied. "Uh, hello?"

 _"Connie!"_ He shouted. "Wait, what? Who are you?"

"Me?" The voice sounded cross. "Who are _you_?"

"This is Steven Universe!" He continued to shout. "I want to talk to Connie!"

"Connie's not here," they grunted. "This is Mabel."

Steven scowled at the screen. "Aww, _Mabel?!_ " That's right. Steven hit the red button and tossed the phone across the bed, to skitter under the pillow. With a sigh he peered at the bare knees before him, a few dark hairs beginning to mark their turf. He was too getting older. Sort of. In parts. "At least it wasn't a video call," he mused.

This was a big development, probably. There was so much to mull over. It would be easier if he had someone to talk to. Or if he just were, well, more alert. He sucked his teeth for a moment. "Now would have been a great time for that tea."

And there it was, on his lap. Saucer and all. "Oh, _what?!_ " Tentatively he raised the cup to his lips, only to recoil before he made contact. "And it's _still_ too hot!"

Steven shot to his feet, launching the saucer to wheel across the landing, bounce unharmed off the sofa below, and land with a clink beneath the front window. "It's just the way I left it!" He gasped. "The possibilities are endless!"

For an hour Steven rummaged through the house for items to place in his gem—storing them, recalling them; from in front, to the side; into his hand, onto the floor. Little things, not-so-little things. Practical things. Errant nonsense. Spare shirts. A scrub brush. Sir Bearington. A small bunch of bananas. His cheeseburger backpack, full of many useful objects. Then his eye lit on the fruit of Stevonnie's me-day, a while back: their wardrobe, their novels, their, er, undergarments. That was it. Steven had a brilliant idea. Wait 'til Connie heard about this.

* * *

With some online research, Steven deciphered that Connie would call at 2 AM. She wasn't kidding; that was early. But it left plenty of time to get his life in order. Before he stepped into the shower to chip away at his hair, Steven planned out everything he might need the rest of the night—pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, a towel, actually-that-comb for once, and one by one stored them in his gem. "Just like a vending machine," he laughed.

The rest of the night was one extended conjuring trick. When he needed shampoo, there it was in his hand. When he needed to dry off, he was holding a towel. When he was dry, his pajamas... were floating in the air, or in a pile on the floor. Then after many false starts, they were on him. And then they were on him _again_ , the right way around.

He set an alarm for **1:50**. Didn't want to miss the only Connie time he might have for a while. It was hard to know just what was happening, but they'd work through this. It would be just dandy. Dandy, in the end. Dandy Andy. All they'd have to do was show—Steven yawned. Who's Andy? What was he talking about? Thinking? Something, Connie. Got to, need to, Connie.

Steven's dreams were addled. Each time he got comfortable, there was some buzz or chirp, or that same darned song would keep playing on the radio. He tried to explain to Lion, that was no way to run a boombox. They didn't have just that one radio on the channel. It was more like a forest. Everything was _leaves_. Lions should know all about leaves, because they talk to _other_ cats.

As the light crept over the horizon and through his window, thoughts turned to a bright metallic city. Automated sidewalks. Not a car on the ground, but a few in the air. Mostly taxis, looked like. Not a sign of poverty or decay. Lots of green spaces. Such big trees. Big, and thick. They were so old. Older than anyone. And so must be the city. But it was so clean. They turned the corner. Aha, there was the ocean. And the boardwalk. And hey, the Big Donut. _Now under new management._ What, again?

"Future doughnuts," Stevonnie mumbled, as the sun, enormous and orange, came over the horizon. Too large. Too bright. They were going to go blind.

His eyes snapped open, and immediately his arm shot across his face, shielding it. "Ow!" He forgot to close the blinds last night. Wait, what time was it? He rolled to his side. His phone was at 4% charge. **7:35.** _Oh, crud._

Flopped on his back, Steven leaned his pillow against his face as a shade. He stared at the rafters as they caught the early light. Each side a different shade, a slightly different hue. All kind of... orange. It was always there. Why had he never noticed? It was kind of beautiful, really.

He cupped his gem. And sighed.

So. What now?


	2. Code Fusion

Through the week, Delmarva maintained its fashion on the springtime. Its temper at breakfast was no guarantee of the sky at noon. Come Friday, Steven was done with it all. The morning was a gift for the crabs at the expense of their neighbors, and he would have none of it. For two days he'd moped in exhaustion, watching his app alerts until the sun rose, then bumping into walls until the late afternoon compelled his body to go through with its imperatives, whatever his intent at that time. At 1:50 the cycle resumed with a new and willfully awful alarm tone. Two days was enough. If the weather failed to agree, Steven would just have to work all the harder to make its peace.

So, all right. The best way to feel normal: rituals. Those little beats that tell you where you sit in the day. Washing, dressing, floss, and breakfast. Checking the mailbox, which he had neglected. But no longer! With a chuckle Steven raised his shield like a dome and scuttled down to join his brethren as the pinkest crab on the beach. And, the only one with a mailbox. Damp as it may be.

"Nothin' better than a letter, wetter, whether big or small." Steven trilled to himself as he fiddled with doors and flags, and inserted his whole arm to the shoulder for some reason. The findings did not at first inspire: a prize announcement for Current Resident, a flyer for a pet dentistry called Enamel Farm, and, alarmingly, a jewelry catalog offering in a large typeface, **DIAMONDS** — **DIAMONDS** — **DIAMONDS**. Steven recoiled, flipped to look at the back—oh, nice watch—then pressed his face against the box, blocking next to all outside light, to make sure he hadn't missed something more interesting.

There was one more slip in the back, half stuck under a fold in the metal. It was a postcard. For Steven! With no return address. The message was a whole bunch of numbers, mostly, with a few letters at the start: "VPLW 123694 431219 268412..." From the Society of Natural Science, the caption read. "Peregrine falcon in flight." On the obverse, there it was. Big old bird. _Huh._

Steven leapt as a chill ran through his spine, the rain now cascading off his shield, down the back of his shirt. Okay, time to take this indoors. He found and greeted Amethyst slumped on the sofa, eating from an uncooked bag of microwave popcorn.

" _Sup_ , dude." At least one kernel had made its way into her nostril. "Find anything good?"

Steven tried to hide the catalog. "Mm, not really. Except this postcard." He held it upside-down to match Amethyst's face. "It's a little odd."

"Whoa." She reached out to the offering. "What's with all the numbers?" The kernels crunched and screeched between her teeth, causing Steven's bones to quiver. "This some secret code from your _girlfriend_?"

He reclaimed the card and flipped it back around. Oh. Yeah. The handwriting; of course. Connie's the only one he knew who did that weird thing with the zeroes. And the threes, with that straight top. And the _ones_. And he needed to talk to her about those sevens.

"Cool bird, though." More of the corn found the floor than her mouth. Some that found her mouth chose the floor anyway. "What is that, a buzzard?"

"Yeah. Uh, no." Absently, he read off the caption again. "It's a peregrine falcon." Amethyst cackled a spray of half-chewed, pre-buttered kernels across the room. "Hey," he protested.

"You got you a _Peri_ -gram, huh? Here, check out my style." She slid from the couch to the crown of her head, rolled backward to her feet, then sidled across to the bathroom door.

Steven scratched his neck. "For a minute I thought you were gonna turn into a bird."

Amethyst shrugged. "Nah, gotta shake it up." She landed the door a run of floor-shuddering kicks. " _Shake it_ , Dottie! Come lookit this nerd garbage!" She turned back, then as the door gave, added a raptor's screech over her shoulder: _"Scraaaw!"_

All hair and knuckles, Peridot blanched like a feral sphinx before wilting into her normal dyspepsia. "I was attempting to conserve my energy output for the unlikely event of a sudden Earth-shattering crisis." She yawned. "I hope your interruption is of adequate significance to justify the kinetic loss incurred in my propulsion _all_ the way _over here_."

Steven forced his gentlest smile. "Hi, Peridot. What do you know about codes?" He held the message up for her, so she didn't have to move her arms.

It took a moment for Peridot's eyes to focus, at which point she peered with her mouth slightly agape, registering as little emotion as she could manage. "There are many forms of cryptogram, but some of the most exceedingly simple involve little logic to speak of. They rely on a shared frame of reference, known to each party involved in the transmission."

"Shared what-now?" Steven combed through the numbers, looking for a pattern.

"Some information that both sender and recipient already possess. Like," she grimaced; analogies were hard, "a key. Not a _musical_ key," she grunted. "Probably. More like a secret operations manual, or a common database. Without that _key_ , any attempt to, erm, unlock the code would likely result in garbage." She rolled her eyes. "You don't need me for this. Without the key it's pointless to consider. With the key, the decoding process would be a poor application of my abilities. Amethyst was right. This is nothing but garbage. Nerd garbage. I'm going back to bed now."

"Night, Peridot." Steven puzzled over this information. "Er, good _morning_? And thank you!"

Peridot muttered and groaned under her breath as she shuffled her return to the bathtub, shutting the door ever so slowly behind her.

"So I need a key," he mused. "A shared manual, she said."

Amethyst was upside-down on the couch again, picking her teeth. "What about those dumb books you two are always reading? The ones where the girl makes out with the bird or whatever?"

" _The Spirit Morph Saga_?" Steven scratched his chin, and mused at the Natural Science society photo. "Hrm. But what if that's just what she'd _want_ us to think?"

His companion flicked the toothpick away from her as an electric purple light enveloped her face, endowing it with a large, jagged beak. "Hey, Stee-man," she squawked, "in the mood for some _fowl play_?" The last two words involved hand gestures.

Steven failed to look up. "Not now, Amethyst. That's very funny, but I need to try a few things."

"Aw, c'mon! Polly's hurtin' for a big old smackaroo! Scraaaw!"

* * *

Peridot was right. Once Steven got started, it wasn't hard at all; just frustrating. There was a lot of trial-and-error, and a lot of flipping around. The letters at the start, he soon saw, were a key of their own—or rather, a legend. **VPLW** ; there were four books, and the first numbers were all between one and four, so that had to mean volume, page, line, and word. The books weren't numbered, though, and Steven had trouble remembering the middle two. He also hit an issue with shorter numbers; 27164—was that _page 71, line 6?_ Or was it _page 7, line 16?_ A few rain smudges also conspired against him.

"Will... settle... _grange_?" Steven scratched his temple with the top of his pen, causing it to click open and shut. What did that mean? Hm, maybe it was line two, word nineteen? "Will... _call_ grange?" Er. No, wait. That was a one, not a seven. "Will call _again_." That's it. He was on fire now. (What's a grange?)

Ultimately the message was short; just nine words in three rows. He read it aloud:

 _will—call—again_

 _midnight—on—Saturday_

 _please—pick—up_

Yes! That actually made sense. So that gave Steven a day. Or, wait. "Midnight on _Saturday_? If this is Friday," he mused, "does that mean tomorrow, or tonight?" The pen had drifted down to scratch the side of his nose. "Well, Connie's pretty exact, so it's got to be tonight." That decided, Steven stood and stretched his shoulders back to a working shape. "Wow, just a few hours away!" He laughed. "Good thing the mail got here on time."

No sooner had he regained his standing legs than the room shook, putting him on his elbow. Steven whooped and groaned at the respective shock and pain. He couldn't decide whether to first rub his arm or his head, and wound up a tangle of limbs. "What was that?" A whoosh of the Temple doors, and Garnet was already out front, glaring down the beach. "Garnet?" Steven followed her. Beach City lay mostly on the other side of the Temple's cliff. The solitude was the point. Times like this, though, it made it hard to know what was going on. Pearl was close on Steven's heels. Amethyst took her time. Who knows what Peridot was doing. Sulking, likely.

Garnet held her visor as if trying to improve its focus. "The other side of the old bay. It's big. It's hungry for crabs."

Steven felt his hackles rise. " _No!_ Just when they get a chance to play! Garnet, we've got to save them!"

Pearl furrowed her brow. "The crabs? From the vibration, I'd be more concerned about the city."

"Save the crabs, save the city." Garnet turned to the others. "Let's do this."

Amethyst slouched in the doorway, scratching her backside. She yawned. "Sure, whatevs."

Steven charged down the steps, shouting. _"Craaabs!"_

* * *

At **12:02** , Steven's phone began to chime. It was the video-chat app. He'd made sure the phone was charged that night, and had cleared its memory several times so there was no chance of the app crashing. So it did mean Friday night. Sort of. In circadian terms.

"Steven!" Connie whisper-yelled. Steven could barely see her; just a glaze of monitor flare, raising out her cheekbones like St. Elmo's diode. "I'm so glad you're there! Sorry I'm so late. I kept typing my dad's password wrong. I was afraid it would lock me out."

The weight of the week evaporated. Steven hadn't even noticed the tightness in his chest as he'd waited, wondering what would happen. If he'd got the message wrong. If Connie wouldn't make it. If the cell towers would all blow a fuse. "No! You're not late. _I'm_ the one who messed up. I'm so sorry I—"

" _It's okay!_ It's okay. It happens." Her voice was all breath. Steven realized he'd have to find his earbuds, and began to fumble above his pillow with one hand. "That was an intense day. I think I got a little worked up. But it's fine now." He could hear her smile, even if he couldn't see it. "I mean, it's not. But, I'm just happy to see you."

"Yeah, me too. Oh, Connie, you got—hang on." There they were. He flipped the phone over and felt for the headphone jack. Three times he found it; three times he tried to plug the phones into the charger hole. Okay, got it. "Sorry. hard to hear. Had to get a direct line."

She giggled. "I've just got the one in, so I can hear if someone's coming. I think we're fine, though."

Back on track. This was important. "Connie, you remember Asdoughlogy? The place with the crab waffles?"

"You mean the scorpions? Of course! We never, Stevonnie never got to try one."

He sighed. "Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen now."

"Aw, did it close? We were just there a week ago."

"Yeah, it's pretty closed now. There was this Gem monster, and it wanted to eat up all the crabs. We chased it down the boardwalk, but then it saw the sign on the shop's roof." More to himself than the phone, "I guess that fried shrimp never _did_ look like a scorpion tail," he added.

"Oh no. You don't think they're going to rebuild?"

"I doubt it's worth it. They were just hanging on as they were." He stretched across the bed, and turned to one side, balancing the phone between palm and comforter. "It's weird. It's not a super big deal, but I kinda feel like a part of my childhood just went away. That shop had so many problems, but it was always there. And you kind of had to go there to understand what they were doing. And even then it was," he breathed a laugh, "difficult. I, I never really thought about the place, but it was hard to forget. I wished I could have shared that with you."

"Yeah." From what the dim blue light could tell, Connie's head was down, away from the screen. "I wish I could have been there today."

"I know, right?"

"No, I mean." Connie was up again, her face propped on her knuckles. "You're right. This sucks, but we'll make it work. We're _making_ it work. I'll see you soon enough. But." Her breath kept stopping, then restarting before it came all the way out. "It's all bunched up. I don't, I just, I miss you. Like, I _really_ miss you."

"Yeah." Steven rubbed the fingers of his off hand. "It's getting, I'm, I feel kind of confused when we're not together." He paused. "I mean, _together_ -together, or just..."

"Right."

"Either way," he grumbled, "I feel like I don't want to _do_ anything, because I want to share it all with you. And if you're not there, I'm like, well, there's _another_ thing wasted." Connie giggled. Steven didn't think it was that funny, but he was encouraged. "It's, I get the big things. They, it makes sense; I wish you were there today. But..."

"But, _brushing your teeth?_ "

 _"Yes!"_ Connie recoiled as Steven shouted. "Sorry. I mean."

"Steven, that's why I was so crazy the other day."

"You weren't crazy. You were..." He pondered. "Excitable."

Even in that light, Steven could make out her smile. "If you say so."

" _Oh!_ Connie!" She jumped again and pulled out her earbud. Steven waited until she'd finished rubbing her ear and switched to the opposite phone, then dialed down to shout-whisper. "Connie, I got to show you something. Hang on." He scouted for the best presentation: light, framing, the kind of privacy this house didn't really afford. Not many options; he unplugged his earbuds, set the phone on his dresser, and aimed the desk light at himself. _"Ow!"_ Steven squinted against the bulb; red dots danced across his vision. "Tell me if you can see me okay," he said.

"Better than you _me_ , I do reckon." Connie's voice had grown wry. "Steven, should I be asking—"

"No, just wait. I'm doing a thing. Trust me."

"Roger."

Steven cleared his throat.

"Nice pajamas."

" _Thank_ you. Which leads me to our presentation of the evening."

"Morning."

"If I could have hush from the studio audience?"

"Sorry."

"So what's always the hardest part of the morning? You _wake up_ , you _get washed_ , and you find all your clothes are torn up in a muddy pile, _am I right?_ "

"I must admit, this has happened to me."

"I _know_ , right?" Steven shrugged theatrically. "So what if I told you there was a way to never feel like you had to rummage through the back of someone else's car just to get dressed for the day?"

"Steven..."

"Whether it's _wet_ out," and there Steven was in a yellow raincoat and galoshes. Connie fell from her chair, the earbud ejecting with a painful pop. "Cold and _windy_ ," the raincoat now a down jacket and scarf, "or just your typical Steven day." A pink flash resolved into Steven's jeans and a star shirt. He raised an eyebrow, as Connie tried and failed to lever herself back to the chair. "Maybe even a special Steven _eve_?" The shirt became a spare blouse that Connie had been missing. A double-take shattered Steven's performative confidence; with a stammer and fumble, the blouse was swapped for the pink shirt she had given him.

Connie propped against the desk and half-yelled at the screen. " _Steven!_ How are you—" Hearing herself, she flinched, a hand over her mouth, then bent down to search for the earbuds.

"It's Mom's gem! Looks like I can store more than a shield in there. It's kind of tricky, and I'm not sure how things come out all the time, but—"

"This is, it's _so_ ," Connie pushed the bounds of a whisper, "it's, how much can you _store_ in there?"

He shrugged. "I dunno! It's all untested. Pretty much. I'm not sure how it works yet, except it kind of just, uh, does, when I want it to?"

"Well, how do you find things? Do you just have to remember what you have?"

Steven scratched his head. "You seem to know all the questions. Yeah, um. Maybe we can figure that out later?" He coughed. "Together?" He squinted past the lamp, trying to see the phone. _"Connie?"_

"To-," Words escaped her. "You mean..."

"Yeah. I've already got our whole wardrobe in here. The stuff we bought for Stevonnie. And, um, I made a list, just in case I forget something. And I put that in here too." With a rose light, it materialized in his hand. Then, as quickly, it was gone. "I don't know what'll happen when it reaches its limit. If there even is one."

"So," Connie chewed her lip, "we can just, change at will? Like, like—"

Steven waggled his eyebrows. _"A magical girl?"_

"I... was going to say a super ranger. But, yes. Some kind of superhero."

He gasped. "Steven has an idea!"

Connie planted down, actually finding the chair this time. "By golly, I believe I'm with you on this. I mean, we _do_ have super strength. And we can hover!"

"And we've got this cool shield!" And there it was.

"But do you think this is... a little much?" She was grasping for some handle on reason. Something to hold back the mania. "Aren't the Gems already kind of superheroes?"

"What, no? They're just Gems! They're _perfectly normal_ ancient magical alien people." He began to jab a palm with his index finger. "Superheroes have a secret _identity_. They have a cool _name_ , and complicated origin stories that keep changing over time while retaining the same basic ideas."

"And... Stevonnie _has_ a secret identity." Connie was overcome with awe. "It's _us_."

"That's right!" Steven closed his hands. "Just your everyday millionaire playboy and, er..."

"And a _truth-seeking girl reporter_ ," Connie continued. "You bring the means, I bring the method. And when trouble arises, together we become..."

Steven raised his hands in a pre-planned shrug. "The... _Crystal Crusader_?"

"Hmm," she said. "That is... very close to ideal. I like the consonance."

" _Con_ -sonant Connie. Why, of _course_!" Steven chuckled.

"Okay, don't do that."

" _Consarn it_. That is, er. Sorry."

Despite herself, Connie yawned. "Oh, crimminy. You know, I've been waiting so long to talk to you, but I think I, uh, kind of over-exerted myself here."

"You want to call it a night?"

" _No._ But, my dad will be working every night this weekend." Another yawn broke past her guard. "We can continue this tomorrow, same time, if that's all right?"

"Yeah, all right," Steven muttered." I wish we could just, well, not _have_ to."

"I know. I'm—" She clenched her jaw, and started again. "You better have some good plans for tomorrow. We've got important work to do."

Seeing her now, in the strengthened glare from her screen, Steven's eye began to water. Still, he jabbed his chest with a thumb. "Hey, this man's got nothing _but_ plans." He sniffed. "And Connie?"

"Yeah?"

"This is gonna be _awesome_."


	3. Registry Conflict

_"Connie!"_

In the haze of her monitor she flinched, earbud still in hand. "Hey, Steven. Hang on; I think there's a sound limiter on here somewhere." Steven laced his fingers beneath his chin and listened to the faint click of her mouse.

"Connie," he whispered, "I got your _thing_!"

"My thing?" She blinked at the camera, then smiled. "Oh! Wow, that was fast."

Steven raised a manila envelope to view; empty, blazoned with his all-three names in meticulous block letters. "Jamie brought it right up to the door! He said he knew a manuscript when he felt one, and he didn't want me to miss a potentially life-changing opportunity."

"Well, I don't know about life-changing," Connie blushed. "When you told me about that mission I just got carried away, wishing I could have been there with you. What if it had been us, Stevonnie, in our secret identity? Fighting Gem monsters, protecting Beach City." The spirit had caught her, and carried her gaze to the middle distance. "Maybe claiming one last waffle from that food stand, before it became yet another casualty of the uncaring ravages of time."

"You spun it a good memorial." Steven scratched his chin. "The decor was a little off, and your canned history papered over some of its more unsavory episodes, but this whole story is _so good!_ You should get it published!"

Connie scowled. "Well, it's a first draft. I worked with what I had."

"Oh, yeah." Steven reached for a stack of crisp white letter paper, interspersed with green. "I saw all the blanks you left. I filled in the first couple, thinking it was like a Weird Word game, but then it made less sense than before."

"I left in some spaces, because I didn't want to presume." Connie's eyes shone with determination. "Steven, we still have so much to decide, about who we are, how we look."

"What our catch phrase will be." He splayed his hands in an impression of a shrug, in the process spinning his phone's view to the ceiling, then ceding it to gravity, with a clatter. "Whup!" With a kick Steven chased the phone across his loft, then grasped beneath the bed, his ears tuned all the while to its sole under-powered speaker.

"Exactly!" Connie continued undaunted. "So, I've got some notes here."

"Wow, notes?" With two fingertips Steven reclaimed the phone, and swung himself back into frame. "You're so organized."

"Well, you'd think so." Connie bent to fumble at her feet. "Where did— _ah!_ " With a fist she wielded a blue-and-white pen, crested with tabs of many hues.

"Whoa." Steven was genuinely impressed. "How many colors is that?"

"Today," she turned it sideways to check, "we're sketchin' with _four_."

"Four?!" He covered his mouth, aware of his volume. "All in one pen?!"

"Well, yeah." Connie raised her brows. "It's what I use for social studies. I don't want to mix my theories with the dictation. But it works out, because of our four character themes." She raised a tablet, its lined page split into quadrants. " _You_ ," she aimed her click-buttons at the webcam, "were hoping for something _cool_ , or something _pretty_."

Steven blinked in affirmation. "Or preferably both. Like a pink trench coat."

"Hang on." She lifted a finger. "Let me record this."

"Record?" Steven lit up. "So you can watch me later?"

"Well—no. I mean..." Connie clicked her pen, and lifted the corner of the pad.

"Oh." The smile evaporated.

Connie giggled. "This is my dad's computer. I don't want to leave any files around. Anyway," she squinted at the tablet on her knee, "this is much more efficient." Steven watched as she drew her nose to within an inch of the paper. Through a smear of digital grain, he could just make out the sway of her shoulders.

"Um, you could always type your notes?" He ventured. "And then, er, email them?"

"Too loud." She was off-microphone. As she muttered, Steven tried to feel out the shapes of the words, fill in the meaning where he could. "Also, my dad's in security. I don't know what kind of key-tracking he has installed."

Key-tracking? Steven scowled. "Oh. Well, can you see?"

"No." Connie grunted through her hair. "All right, I guess I'll have to risk it. Where's—" Steven heard a rustle, as she bent even lower. "My bag is—ugh. Okay, so—" The warmth of a book light snapped Connie into frame, displacing the screen's sepulcher rime with the summer slopes and valleys of her face. A deep summer eve, to be sure—but for Steven, a cozy one. Just days ago she'd not have risked the display. But now there was the fire, written on her face. "Cos-tume;" she spoke as she amended the chart.

"So." She cleared her throat. "You're _Pretty/Cool_."

"Thank you." Steven bowed, theatrically.

" _I—_ " Connie twirled the pen to her chin, launching it briefly from her grip before she caught it with a jolt, "said any outfit had to be _practical_ in battle, and..." She shrugged. "I—I felt it should have some _history_."

"To fill in our secret origin!" Steven whispered with glee.

"That's right! Yes. In part. And it, also, I—" She paused. "Well, it might help us, them, Stevonnie. To feel, you know, _connected_. To something. Besides, just, us."

"Stevonnie is their own person," He agreed through protruding lips. "In a manner of speaking."

Connie opened her mouth, then shut it again, mostly. "Yeah, it's—I just..."

A long silence crept into the room. "Um, Connie?"

"What? Oh." She blinked with a start, and searched the rims of her eye for mislaid thoughts. "Sorry. What was—"

"You okay?" Steven frowned.

She nodded, absently. "Of course." The heel of a palm took to battle with the side of her nose. "Ugh, sinuses. Gets worse when I'm tired." She sucked in a breath. "Hey, do you ever—" She shook the notion out through her teeth. "Sorry. Anyway, I tried a bunch of things. I—"

"Connie?"

Her cheek weighed on a wrist, and was still. Connie bit her lip. "Steven, do you ever think—I mean, if we _did_ , it would be kind of like this, right?"

"If we did what?"

"It's," she sighed, "all these _things_ we're planning, it's not just about us. It's not just what _we_ want, right? Stevonnie is—I mean, I'm not just my mom or my dad. I'm _me_ , right? And I don't know all their plans, but—"

Steven furrowed his brow. "Their plans? For... Stevonnie?"

"What? _No_ , Steven, for me. I'm saying—I'm talking about _us_. About _our_ plans. Stevonnie is half of each of us, but—"

A fuse popped in Steven's brain. "Wait, wai-wait. Are you saying, I'm Stevonnie's mom?"

Connie dropped her arm and stared. "I— _no_. Steven, I'm— _no_." She shook her head. "No."

He shrugged. "I guess you lost me, then." While Connie groaned through the desk, he scoured the rafters in thought. "If I was, would that make Stevonnie their own grandma? Kind of?"

With a sniff, Connie raised her head again. "It's—having a _real_ kid is different. You give up a piece of you, but you keep on going, and you don't get to say who they are or what their life will be like. No matter how hard you try."

"Oh. Yeah." A palm found its way to his gem. "So, um, how do they figure it all out?"

"I guess by living? Having their own experiences? I—" Back to rubbing her sinus. A bit harder than it needed. "I mean, you give them everything you have. Tell them what you can. Try to push them where you hope they'll go. But, then they meet other people. Have ideas you never thought of. And, I guess," her eyes lost focus, "they grow up?"

"So that's what real kids do, huh?" His hand clutched tighter. "They grow up."

"Well, yeah." Connie leaned back. "And that's the thing. Stevonnie's already—well, we _look_ grown-up. I suppose they're no older than us. But, Steven, if my birthday were just 76 days earlier, I'd be in _high school_ this fall. And you're older than me! Then after high school, it's college! Unless we dream up a fresh new paradigm to disrupt an untapped billion-dollar industry."

"Wow. Um. Well..." Steven scratched his head. "Maybe I'll find a way to turn a pork chop into perfect hot dogs?"

Connie frowned. "Wouldn't that be a meat grinder?"

"Maybe for _Grandpa_ Universe." Steven raised his palms to the camera. "I predict, the future of hot dogs will be _hands-free._ " The appendages slid apart, and out of view.

A giggle. "I miss having you in my head. It feels like I can't quite think straight on my own."

"I know. It, it keeps getting harder." Steven rubbed his feet together. "But, you know what's good about all _this_?" He gestured at space between him and the camera.

"The subterfuge?" Connie's eye glinted in the murk.

"Subter-whoge? Oh. No. Well, _yes_. I was gonna say, it's just _us_. Just Connie, and Steven. And I get to _see_ you..." He squinted at the screen. "Kind of. And, hear your _voice!_ And it's not this thing where I wonder, 'wait, _who thought that?_ '"

Connie laid her head on her hands, and grinned.

Steven lowered his eyebrows. "I love being Stevonnie with you, and it's hard not to think about it, but that's only because I'm with _you_. And I'm with you _now!_ " He squinted. "Kind of. And it sucks I can't... see you that _well_ , or sit next to you or put popcorn in your hair. But this is _us_ , right here. We're not making Stevonnie; we're just making _us._ And... I like us."

Connie sat upright. She blinked a few times, removed her single earbud, and pushed herself to her feet. Steven watched closely as she quit the frame to the right, leaving a trace of armrests to flicker in the gloom. For a beat his eyes strained to catch any hint of motion.

Then, with a yelp he buried his face deep in his antecubital fossa as his phone screamed a brilliant white. Steven swiped down and tapped his back-light till the circle was empty. He swiped the controls up again, and—bleary as it all now felt— _there she was_. For real, this time. With the glow of the universe behind her. "Any better?" She asked.

"Whoa." In all the LED glare, he hadn't noticed the blue frame to her eyes. She really was tired. "Hey, aren't you—"

"Huh?" The earbuds found their way home; both of them. As did her backside, to the chair.

"This is great!" He cooed. "I can see your _ears!_ But, aren't you worried they'll notice? I mean, not just your ears?"

A hand reached to sweep her hair forward, then—conscious of the motion—tugged the lock back in place. "A _little_ , but." She grimaced. "Sometimes you have to live in the moment, you know?"

" _Yeah!_ I'm—" Steven swiveled his head, though he knew what he'd find. "Um, the best I can do here is the desk lamp, and that's already on."

"No, it's good." Connie leaned up to her father's screen, filling the camera with her forehead. "It's sort of artistic."

"Well, _you_ -a _know_ a- _me_!" Steven's gestures were scarce more clear than his dialect. "Steven is, a- _how_ you _say_ , ze _con-_ sum-mate artiste!" The chef's kiss that followed is what brought on her snort, and the bang thereby on the desk. "Connie? You okay there?"

"Ow! No. _Yes_." Connie held her nose in pain as she chuckled. "Ow!" She snorted again. "Don't look at me."

Steven laughed nervously. "You kind of made that hard now." Her shoulders began to heave. "Er, I mean. With the _light_." That didn't help at all. The rare breath she managed served only to snort off another round of strange convulsions. "Wow," he mused, "you _do_ sound pretty congested." After a long moment, teeth clenched in what he hoped was a grin, Steven began to drum his fingers. "Hey, um, you been _sleeping_ okay?"

"Huh?" The back of Connie's hand dug at her eye as she raised her head to view. "Oh. Yeah, I—" She pursed her lips, hard. "Steven. Since we've been, _you know_..." Even with the overhead light, the monitor cast its sickly glow. He watched her grasp for words, lose them, and double back from another angle. "I've been having, _dreams_."

"Dreams?" He studied her eyes, rimmed with shadow.

Connie scowled, down and away. "Yeah, every night. They're really," she hesitated, "vivid."

"Vivid?" Steven remembered his visions of sky taxis and unworldly suns. "How _vivid_ is vivid?"

"The city, it's so _clean_ , and the trees are all _ancient_ , like something out of a fantasy. And as I—we walk around, I realize we're right here. Or, _there_ , I mean, in Beach City."

Steven felt his lips curl back. "These dreams," he ventured, "there wouldn't happen to be any moving _sidewalks_ , would there?"

The pad and pen took flight as Connie leapt to the desk. " _Steven!_ Were—you were _there?!_ "

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, yeah, _possibly?_ " His breath caught. "I'm—I think I know what this is. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for _what?_ Steven—"

He shook his head. "Sometimes I, I go into people's dreams? Or even, sometimes when they're awake." His shoulders drooped with a sigh. "I did it to _Lars_ , and Kiki. And now that I think of it, I find it curious of all people I haven't entered yours until now. But I don't have a whole lot of control, and I didn't ask your permission, so I'm sorry."

" _No_ , don't worry!" Connie pleaded. "Steven, that's just, that's just what we do. And—and now I know what's going on."

Steven's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure that _I_ do. This was different from before. I mean, it's _always_ different, but I didn't see you at all. And I didn't see _me_ either."

"That's just it," she insisted. "Don't you see? It wasn't just _our_ dream, yours and mine. It was _Stevonnie's_."

"We _fused_ ," they said together.

"In our dreams," Connie continued. "So. We can do that now?"

"I guess it kind of makes sense?" Steven spoke slowly, weighing each word as a question. "I must have a lot of Connie on the mind lately. Literally." He forced a laugh. "Are you sure you don't mind? Or not—" He scratched his head. "Mind _my_ mind in _your_ —"

Connie hooked the chair with a foot and pulled it under her. "Steven, we're practically one person."

"And sometimes literally," he offered.

" _Exactly!_ " She giggled. "Which is what we're _here_ for, right?"

"Yes!" Steven laughed in return. "I mean. We're here to brainstorm our alter ego. I guess I just got a head start with that. With, storming _your_ brain." He cleared his throat, as his hand found Connie's print-out. "But, this is _great!_ Buck is always on the lookout for new contributors to his independent literary journal. The last few issues have all been found-word poetry, which has put a big dent in his circulation. It's gotten bad enough he's been thinking of selling the mimeograph."

Connie marveled. "You really think he'd look at an unsolicited submission?"

"Don't worry. _I'll_ have a word with him." Steven made a show of rubbing his thumb and forefinger. "In this business it's all who you know."

"That gesture," Connie asked, "what are you saying exactly?"

Steven shrugged. " _I dunno!_ But I bet he'll print it, if we can finish it off. And then we can dream up some _more_ adventures, _together!_ "

"Wow." Connie placed her pad on the desk and clicked the green ink on her pen. "Then I guess we've got some work to do."

* * *

For days they ping-ponged costume ideas, to no real conclusion. Steven had seen her taking minutes, but hadn't expected the follow-up bundle. It was thick; full of lush sketches, loose leaves, and colored sticky notes. Her second draft was mostly blue, with a few pink sheets. Inspired by some avant-garde novels she figured Buck would have read, Connie had reformatted the story in the style of a news wire article, attributed to a certain Veronica Cucamonga. Descriptions of their hero remained vague, due to ongoing discussion.

There was too much to process before their next call; Steven hardly knew where to start. He spun the phone to the papers strewn across his bed. "There's so much _stuff!_ Help walk me through it. These pictures are amazing!"

" _Thank_ you! I'm, they're just some ideas I worked out in class. That's why they're so unfinished." She scratched her cheek. "They kind of got me in trouble, actually. I just, I keep drifting off lately. Every time I look up, I think, we're _still_ talking about this? Seriously?"

Steven grinned. He had no context. "School sounds pretty boring sometimes."

"It can be." Connie shrugged. "Not always, but—well. Coming up on finals, it's mostly review. So while I was sitting—"

"This dress is _amazing!_ " Steven cut her off.

"Oh, that?" She shuffled through her own copies for reference. Floor-length; teal, with gold trim. Sleeveless gold top, with a star cutaway. See-through shawl like a cape. "It's a skirt suit, actually. A _ghagra choli_."

"Congratul-, whuh?" Steven's eyebrows didn't believe his mouth.

Connie giggled. " _GOG_ -rah, _CHO_ -lee," she over-pronounced. "I saw some pictures of my Nanni, and I thought, I don't know any Indian superheroes. Then I added the star, for your family. I tried to," she giggled, " _fuse_ two of our paths. We had four targets, right? So that one was, ' _pretty history_.'"

"Whoa." Steven leaned on both elbows. "That sounds great. But can we fight in it?"

" _Yes_." She nodded. "That's why I split it down the sides. But, that did concern me. It's, well. It's just one idea."

"You've got a _lot_ of them!" Steven laughed.

"I... may have overcompensated." She gnawed her lip. "I just wanted to be thorough."

Steven sighed. "A _knight_ would have been historical. We've already got the _sword_ and _shield_." He weighed the imaginary tools in his hands. "All we'd need is some pretty Gem armor. It would be so _cool!_ And practical."

Connie grunted. "We've already spoken about the Crusades, Steven."

He scratched his hand, recalling her history lesson. "I-I _know_. I know not all knights were good. And I get why the name could be a problem. With everything my mom fought against, that's not what I want either. I just," he implored the camera, "I really like the concept of armor?"

Connie was prepared for this. "Ah! Well, take a look at page, what was it? _Thirteen?_ " She scanned backward through her pad.

"Um, wait." Steven dropped the phone on his comforter, whirling Connie's view into free-fall. "Whoops. _Again._ Uh. This one?" In his hand, a sketch of a long-haired figure in biker, maybe motocross, gear. In the corner, a well-defined page number, circled in red.

"Right, _yes!_ " Connie clenched her fist. "My point being, there are _other_ kinds of armor, and other kinds of _knights_ to consider."

"This is really cool." Steven pondered. Then, with a laugh, "and you know how I like _chaaaaaps!_ "

Connie smirked. She knew she was onto something. "It _is_ cool. And it's practical. And, I even worked in a little history." She closed her eyes, and folded her hands on the desk before her. " _Many years_ ago, before he met the love of his life, my father, Doug Maheswaran, had another love affair."

" _Really?_ " Steven was entranced.

She nodded. "Her name was Margot. She had _two wheels_ and a _30-horsepower_ engine."

"Your father... was in love with a robot?"

Connie frowned. "It was a motorcycle, Steven."

"Oh."

"That motorcycle was _everything_ to my dad. He used to ride it every day, to _school_ and _back_. And even now," Connie leaned forward dramatically, "Margot lies still, beneath a tarpaulin in the back of our _garage_."

"Whoa." Steven hugged himself. "Really?"

She nodded. "At the start of every spring, he tells me, one of these days he's going to pull her out again and ride _all the way_ across the country."

Steven clutched his cheeks. "I had no idea your dad was so awesome!"

"My dad's _full_ of surprises. I don't think Mom will ever _let_ him," Connie shrugged, "but I've seen the old pictures."

Steven waggled his brow. "Sounds like Stevonnie has a little bit of rebel on _both_ sides of the family."

"Point _being_ ," she continued, "all these clothes we think of as _cool_ ," she held out a thumb, "a lot of it started off as _practical_." Out went her forefinger. "Jeans, leather jackets, this was armor, to protect bikers like my _dad_." Her middle finger made three.

Steven saw where this was going. "Does it... come in pretty colors?"

"Presumably!" Connie beamed. "We might have to special order a few specific articles, but that's not so bad."

"Okay." Steven breathed. " _Okay_ , okay. It's all coming together." He further scrutinized the image on page thirteen. "Those bikers sure do wear big boots."

"Yeah..." Connie drew out the word to a taper. Clearly that had been bugging her too. "I don't know how we'd move. But we _have_ to protect our feet, right?"

" _And_ our hands," Steven agreed. "Oh, wait!" From Stevonnie's wardrobe he manifested a pair of toed running shoes. "What about something like _this?_ "

"Five-fingered shoes," Connie mused.

"And fingerless gloves?" He added.

"That _is_ cool," she agreed. Connie rubbed her chin in thought. "I _still_ feel like we're missing something. What about our head?" She clenched her hand, and drove it into the opposite palm "I know! How about an _eyepatch?_ "

"What's with you and eyepatches?" Steven asked.

"I, um." Connie blushed. "I just—Well, something _else_ , then. A mask?"

"Hmm." Steven pondered the prospect. "So tell me about this legendary mask."

"How about a domino? That's a classic. It's like your eyes are swathed in permanent shadow. Anyone who sees us, they can't help but ask, 'Who _was_ that masked Gem?'" Connie raised her palms; undulated her fingers at the camera.

Steven cupped his mouth and gasped. "It _can't_ be! Is that..."

"... the _Crystal Crusader?!_ " They chuckled together.

"Yes! But, I was thinking—" He stroked his chin. "Remember when I healed your eyes, and you kept wearing your glasses anyway?"

"Um. _Yeah?_ " Her smile froze.

"I'm, I'm just—" Steven held up his hands. " _That_ was kind of like a mask. But, you don't wear them anymore. So—um..." He rubbed his neck. "What if Stevonnie had... glasses?"

"Hmm." Connie scrunched her nose. "You mean like Garnet's visor?"

"Oh." He pouted. "I guess that kinda _is_ her thing, huh."

"Or—ooh, _goggles?!_ " Connie looped her thumbs and forefingers around her eyes.

"It's perfect," Steven whispered.

"Or, maybe—" She flipped her wrists, so the fingers curled past her cheekbones. "Up or down?"

"Up, definitely! You look like an owl!"

" _Hoo_ , me?" Connie waggled her fingers.

"Yes, you! I love the goggles. That's way more practical than an eyepatch."

" _Yeah_." Connie spoke in a monotone. "Well, I think we've got enough to finish this up now. Did Buck clarify his deadline for submission?"

"Oh, whenever he gets around to printing," Steven shrugged. "He usually waits until he has enough to fill an issue. Though he did hand out a few quarter-pages once. I guess it saved on materials, anyway."

" _Well_ ," Connie pressed her palms against the desk, "I _shall endeavor_ to deliver a final draft within the week."

"I can't wait to see the first issue!" Steven squealed. "I just know it'll cause a literary riot!"

"Yeah, maybe!" Connie grinned. "Then we can get busy dreaming up our next big adventure. It'll only get crazier from here!"

"Um, Connie?" Steven laced his fingers tightly. "I'm really glad this is working out, you and me, and all of this. I mean, I... I _really_ miss you, but, I guess I'll take what I can get, you know?"

"Yeah. I..." Her face fell, then a corner crept up into something like a smirk. "But, tell you what. Give me time to pee, but then... meet you in a few minutes? _In my brain?_ "

Steven laughed. "Make sure you close any doors you need before I get there."

"Steven, we both know," her eyes began to twinkle, "between you and me, there _are_ no closed doors."


End file.
